words in the title of this post were actually taken from a song I heard on the radio, back in the 1950s. The line is kind of silly, but if you think about it a bit and roll it around in your mind, it is (inadvertently, I'm sure) quite profound.
I'll tell you. It can be a metaphor for how many of us live our lives: tentatively, unsure of ourselves, bashful, reticent, afraid to seize the moment. We wait for the right time, the right circumstance, the right signals, before we commit to doing something. Then, often, it's too late. The opportunity is gone, perhaps forever.
I have never been slow to decide to start a business, make an investment, or do anything business-related. I wish I could say that I was as fearless and decisive, especially as a teenager, in pursuing relationships with girls. In the song, the singer is checking out the lay of the land (oops, accidental sexual innuendo there) to see if she is as interested in him as he is in her, before he considers making his move. It reminds me of myself when I was in high school. I was too shy for my own good. I never talked to the pretty twins who smiled flirtatiously at me in the hallways of my high school, until they finally gave up on me as a lost cause. Or the girls who came half-way down the block to play catch right in front of my house. Or . . . , well, you get the idea.
I'm not quite as bashful now, thank goodness. I have to admit, though, that I watch my son with a certain amount of envy, as he interacts so casually and comfortably with girls. At 14, he is far too young (in my not-so-humble opinion) to be chasing girls romantically just yet, but when he is a little older he won't be agonizing, as I did, about whether to smile at someone, to say hello, or to ask for a date.
I wonder where those twins are today? Or the girls who played catch. Or the girl who asked me to a beach party, at which after drinking one beer, I got sick. Or the girl who, when walking home from school, turned towards the road and watched me drive by every time she heard the roar of my old Volkswagen's engine. I wonder.
I don't want my son to wonder like that. I want him to be as assertive and adventurous as I have been with business in his personal life as well. Life is too short to wonder.
He will do fine, I hope. I just want to make sure he lives his life with class, and that he is always kind and considerate. That way, when he is my age one day and reflects back on his own life, he will never have to wonder whether he did the right thing.
And what about me, his dad? Well, yes, I was looking back to see if she was looking back at me. She was, and her interest was written all over her, but I was too shy to do anything about it.
Now, we're both wondering.